A Work in Progress
by BuckeyeGrrl
Summary: Blaine is finally moving to NYC after graduation, to start his new life with Kurt and classes at NYADA. He's got the talent, he's got the drive, and has got a lot to prove to his skeptical father... and to himself. Does he have it all figured out, or is he still "A Work in Progress"?
1. Chapter 1

Blaine hit the road just before dawn that June morning—one week to the day after graduation. He turned onto the highway heading east, his old Volvo packed to capacity (and then some) with everything he would need to start his new life in New York.

_New York._ It hardly seemed possible. His dreams of being in the big city, of starting classes at NYADA, and of being with Kurt were finally so close he could almost taste them. He adjusted his visor and slipped his sunglasses on to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun now rising over the eastern horizon. His '80s playlist shuffled to Timbuk3's "The Future's So Bright, (I Gotta Wear Shades)." Blaine smiled and turned up the volume, delighted by the serendipity of the moment. The future was bright, indeed.

Kurt watched the intersection expectantly, his anticipation growing every time the light changed and a new wave of cars rolled toward him. Finally, FINALLY he spotted Blaine's green Volvo heading in his direction. Kurt smiled and waved excitedly— catching Blaine's attention and directing him to the prized parking spot he'd been fiercely guarding for the last 45 minutes. It was a mere block-and-a-half from his apartment building—so they wouldn't have far to haul Blaine's belongings.

Kurt enveloped Blaine in an excited hug the moment he extracted himself from the driver's seat. "You're here! You're finally here!" Kurt squealed. "I can hardly believe it!"

"Oh, believe it!" Blaine laughed. He pulled Kurt closer and kissed him soundly on the lips. "I'm here, in the flesh—" kiss, "and I'm never—" kiss, "going to stop—" kiss, "kissing—" kiss, "my amazing—" kiss, "boyfriend!"_ KISS_.

Giggling, Kurt smacked Blaine's shoulder and pulled back just enough to be out of range of the ardent shower of affection. "Stop! We'll have plenty of time for that later." Blaine's eyebrows shot up expectantly, causing Kurt to burst into giggles once again, before sobering. "No, seriously! We want to get your stuff upstairs to the loft before we lose the daylight." His voice slipped into his lower range, eyes sparkling with the promise of things to come, "Then we can focus on giving you a _proper_ welcome to the Big Apple."

Blaine's face broke into a wide grin. "Well in that case, lead on, Macduff!"

The evening waned as the boys dragged the last box up the stairs to the fourth-floor loft. Even without the sun, the sultry heat of day lingered, and they were grateful for the escape into the air conditioning. Blaine busied himself unpacking a few essentials while Kurt showered, then took his turn to get cleaned up while Kurt pulled together some stacked "gourmet" turkey sandwiches, chips and grapes for supper.

Kurt carried two loaded dinner plates over to his bedroom as Blaine came out of the bathroom dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, still toweling his damp hair dry.

"Oh! I didn't even realize how starved I was until you came in. Can't wait to devour _that!"_ Blaine exclaimed, his eyes widening almost comically large. He walked over to Kurt, taking a plate from him with one hand as his free hand slipped around his boyfriend's waist, eyes darting down to the sandwich. "And look, you brought food too."

"You are _such_ a dork," Kurt said fondly as he kissed Blaine's cheek, then shoved a grape into said dork's mouth.

"Buh you lub me," Blaine said, grinning as he chewed.

"Yes, my folly that," Kurt sighed.

They sat together on the bed, cross-legged, balancing their plates on their laps.

"Gahd, Kuhrt," Blaine said, his words muffled around his mouthful of food. "Dhis ish AHMASHING! Wha dhid you puht"— he swallowed— "in that sauce?"

"Secret recipe of my own creation— though I will admit it's modeled on this horseradish dip from a little bistro Isabelle took me to last month." He licked some sauce from his own fingers. "You like?"

Blaine nodded enthusiastically. "It really makes the flavor of the turkey pop."

"Glad to know my efforts are appreciated," Kurt smiled. He regarded the small mountain of boxes and bags they had unloaded from the car as he chewed for a moment, then said, "Is this everything from your room?"

"Most of it," Blaine replied. "There's still a couple of boxes' worth of things from my bookshelves and such." He wiped his mouth with his napkin before continuing. "Mom said she'd ship them to me next week. The 'green monster' only holds so much."

"I'm amazed you got as much in as you did," Kurt said.

"I'm just glad I didn't have to bungee down the back hatch," Blaine laughed. "Mom was already freaking out that I might not be able to see all my mirrors."

Kurt looked at Blaine for a moment, then asked, "Your mom handling the whole 'youngest son leaving the nest' thing okay?"

"Oh, she's a typical mom—excited to see me 'spread my wings' all while not wanting to see me actually go."

Kurt hummed in response, then waited a beat before speaking again. "And— your dad?" he asked, his tone light but careful.

Blaine shrugged. "Dad is… dad. You know what he can be like sometimes."

"Did he at least see you off?"

"Left on a business trip to L.A. two days ago… so, no."

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt said softly as he reached across the bed to take Blaine's hand in his.

Blaine looked down at their entwined fingers and sighed. He looked up again and his expression brightened. "_Your_ father, on the other hand," Blaine said, getting up from the bed to rummage through a sack on top of the pile, "stopped by last night. Gave me a patented 'Burt Hummel bear hug' and _strict orders_ to look after you."

Kurt snorted and rolled his eyes.

"And _these_—" Blaine pulled a large plastic container triumphantly from the sack and presented it to Kurt, "are from Carole, for you."

Kurt cracked open the lid, the sweet smell of coconut and chocolate wafting up and alerting his senses before the lid was even all the way off. _"Ohhhhh_—her famous chocolate macaroons! We are dining in style _tonight!_"

He scooped up two cookies and handed them to Blaine, then took two more to put on his own plate. "I can never get mine to taste as good as hers, even working from the same recipe. She says its because she adds an extra cup of 'motherly love'."

"I believe it," Blaine said, popping a whole cookie into his mouth at once, eliciting a look of disapproval from Kurt.

"Neanderthal," Kurt huffed. "These exquisite things must be relished for the ambrosia that they are.

"Yes, sir!" Blaine coughed, choking a little as he swallowed too quickly. Looking around Kurt's bedroom, he gestured to the corner of the room with a shrug of his elbow as he shifted his plate, "That's something new since I was here last. Tell me about that."

Kurt got up from the bed and walked over to the large, battered wardrobe in the corner. "THIS," he says with a spokesmodel flourish that would make Vanna White proud, "was retrieved from the sidewalk outside the NYADA dorms after spring semester ended. Really just a step above IKEA in quality, but it's big and it was free," he continued, opening the top doors wide to display the inside. "It's still a work in progress. A little battered, but serviceable. I've cleaned it up some already, but see—" Kurt gestured as he described his plan— "We can put some wire racks on this side for your folded things, a bar across this side for hanging things, and get baskets to go on the bottom shelves in lieu of drawers. Later we can add some paint and a few embellishments to cover the worst of the dents on the outside. And soon, _voila_— a beautiful, like-new armoire to store all your clothes!"

Blaine's eyes traveled up and down the wardrobe admiring Kurt's resourcefulness. "Kurt Hummel, gourmet chef, fashion savant, restorer of furniture, and soon-to-be-star of Broadway. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Nope," Kurt said. "I am Just. That. Fabulous." He shut the wardrobe doors and turned to face Blaine again. "You are lucky I can rock the shabby/chic furnishings vibe like nobody else. Tomorrow we can work on it some more, and soon we'll have a lovely new home for all your handsome Brooks Brothers cardigans, blazers and button-downs here. But for now, to bed."

"I seem to recall you made me a promise about 'other activities' once we got the car unpacked," Blaine pouted, "and now you're telling me I have to go to sleep?"

"Who said anything about sleep?" Kurt purred. He closed the distance between the wardrobe and the end of the bed in two long strides. Blaine barely had time to shove his empty plate onto the nightstand before Kurt pounced in one graceful, flying leap.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight streamed in through the window as Blaine hummed along to the songs streaming from the open laptop on the desk. He reveled in the eclectic mix of tunes WNYU's DJ was spinning— an energetic selection of indie pop perfect for unpacking the last of his things.

He and Kurt had trolled the local hardware store the day after he'd arrived and brought home supplies to fix up the old armoire. With both of them working together, sandpapering and repainting had gone faster than he'd expected, and they'd been able to install some wire shelves and a hanging bar in the top section already. Kurt was still on the hunt for some baskets for the bottom shelves and artsy embellishments for the outside, but said that shouldn't keep Blaine from "moving his things into their new home" today.

Blaine had the loft to himself that morning, with Kurt at work and Rachel running errands. He spun as he danced his way over to the armoire with a stack of carefully-folded shirts, making a mental note to look up more music by this particular band when he had a chance. Once the clothes were neatly in their place, he turned to assess the remaining piles. "What to tackle next?" he mused aloud, then a knock on the door gave him an immediate answer.

"I have two boxes here for a—" the delivery man checked his handheld computer, "Mr. Blaine Anderson?"

"That would be me," Blaine said cheerfully, reaching to take the stylus offered to sign his name.

There were, in fact two _very large_ boxes addressed to him. His mom, true to her word, had sent the remaining items he wanted from his room.

"Would you like me to wheel these in for you so you don't have to wrestle them by yourself?"

"Yes, please," Blaine nodded. He held the door open wider so the man could navigate the boxes through the entryway. "Over by the couch would be great."

Blaine helped slide the boxes off the dolly. "Thank you so much," he said, and the driver nodded and waved as he went on his way.

Blaine turned his attention back to the boxes. He slipped his small pen knife out of his jeans pocket, carefully slicing the packing tape on the first box and folding the flaps back to look inside. A note in his mother's neat, precise handwriting laid on top of several bubble wrapped items.

_Dearest Blaine,_

_The house just isn't the same without you here. I miss coming home to you playing the piano in the drawing room, and seeing your smiling face at breakfast. I guess "empty-nest syndrome" has hit me hard these past few days that you've been gone—especially with packing up these last little knick-knacks from your bedroom._

_How is life in New York so far? I hope you're not wasting away in your new "Bohemian arts college lifestyle." I've taken the liberty of including some homemade _pan de sal_ buns and a couple of jars of my mango raspberry jam that I know you love—just to soothe my worried mind now that I can't personally see to it that you are eating properly every day._

Blaine looked up from reading, scanning the box contents again, and sure enough, the care package she described was there nestled safely among bubble-wrapped treasures. He smiled— the best taste of home he could have asked for, short of her sending _pancit miki_ (which wouldn't have traveled nearly as well). He returned to her note.

_Your father misses you too, Blaine. I know it's hard, but please be patient with him. He has high expectations of you, because he only wants the best for you. He does love you, but he is stubborn (a trait ALL the Anderson men have—you included!). He'll come around eventually. Give him time._

He sighed and closed his eyes, remembering his last conversation with his father. It hadn't been pretty— months of pent-up frustrations and irritations culminating in a proper fight three nights before Blaine left for New York.

_"You're really doing this?"_

_"Yes, dad, we've been through it already. Many times."_

_"You could be starting at Harvard this fall. With your grades and extra-curriculars, you wouldn't even have to rely on being a 'legacy' to get in—"_

_"Business and law is YOUR dream, not mine. I've been accepted at one of the country's most prestigious performing arts schools, and I'm GOING to New York."_

_"Chasing a crazy 'show-biz' dream, just like Cooper. I expected better from you, Blaine. You're throwing away your future on this reckless plan, if you can even call it a plan!"_

_"Dad—"_

_"Running off to New York. Shacking up with your 'high school sweetheart'. You know, statistically high school romances don't even last into college, much less beyond."_

_"Kurt is NOT just a high school romance—"_

_"You've always been the responsible one, Blaine, and yet here you are diving headfirst into this foolishness. Do you know how many thousands of people— very talented people— go to New York with dreams of making it big, only to barely scrape by? Fame and fortune don't just fall into your lap—"_

_"I KNOW, dad. I'm not afraid of working hard to get what I want. But this IS what I want, and you don't have to like it."_

_"I don't like it. And I don't have to support it, either. If you're doing this, you are doing it without any financial assistance from your mother and me. You are on your own. Maybe THAT will make you come to your senses."_

His father had stormed out of his room then, slamming the door behind him before Blaine could even respond. He knew that even if his mother didn't agree with his father's methodology, she would not openly defy her husband's authority on this. That was not her way. She would, however, work quietly behind the scenes, nudging Blaine and his father toward a reconciliation. He could hear her soft, cajoling tone even as he read her note again— _be patient… he loves you… give him time_.

Blaine gathered the jam jars and plastic box of rolls and headed toward the kitchen. He heard scrabbling at the front door by someone apparently not coordinated enough to get the lock open. Quickly setting his items on the counter, he scrambled to open it— and found Rachel barely balancing two full bags of groceries while trying to wrangle her keys from her purse.

"Oh, Blaine, thank goodness!" Rachel gasped as he took the bags from her and brought them to the table. "I was mere seconds from spilling everything in the hallway."

"Glad to be of service," he chuckled. "I'm working on my merit badge for 'Helping Damsels In Distress' you know."

"I would have thought you'd have earned that one ten times over by now," Rachel said, beaming up at him. "Is Kurt still out?"

"Yes, though I expect him home soon," Blaine replied, checking his watch.

As if on cue, the front door opened again and Kurt came swooping into the loft, dropping his loaded satchel on the floor beside the couch with thud. " accessories project sorted." He crossed to the kitchen and gave Rachel a quick hug, "Hello, Roomie," then spun to wrap his arms around Blaine and plant a loud smooch on his cheek, "and hello, Handsome Boyfriend! Are you ready to head to NYADA?"

"I am," Blaine grinned. "Am I suitably attired to accompany 's most talented intern into the city?" He stepped back from Kurt with arms stretched out to his sides, turning from side to side so Kurt could get the full effect.

Kurt's eyes flicked down Blaine's body appraisingly. "You know how I love those yellow pants, and few people can make the polo shirt/bowtie look work like you can, Blaine," he said, reaching up to smooth and straighten Blaine's plaid bowtie. "I approve."

Blaine preened just a little, as Kurt turned to gather his keys and cell phone again, before continuing, "Although, now that you are in New York, I look forward to introducing a whole new world of fashion and accessories into your wardrobe."

"I'm happy to play dress up with you _any time you want_, Kurt Hummel."

A wry smile twisted across Kurt's face. "Mmmmm, I'll be sure to take you up on that later. Right now we need to get you to your appointment with the school registrar."

The sun was beginning to set as Kurt and Blaine walked hand-in-hand down the street toward their apartment building.

"There's nothing like handing over thousands of dollars for tuition to make one appreciate those summer jobs at Six Flags," Blaine said.

"And sidewalk vendor pretzels," Kurt said, offering Blaine the last bite of their shared treat.

"Mmmhmm." Blaine chewed and swallowed, wiping his bottom lip with his fingers to make sure the last bit of mustard didn't escape down his shirt. "I'm lucky to have such an expert guide to the city. It won't be long until I will have mastered mass transit and know where to find all the cheap eats."

"You are a quick study."

They stopped at the crosswalk to wait for the light to change. Blaine bit his lip and glanced over at Kurt before returning his gaze to the signal. "You know, I was thinking, maybe I should look into selling the Volvo. We really don't need a car in the city, and it would be nice to have the extra cash in the account— especially since my big Broadway starring role and multi-million-dollar record deal is still a few weeks out."

Kurt chuckled. "Well, it's your car to do with as you see fit."

"It's an older model and its definitely not sexy, but it's in great condition and runs well. It should be good for a few thousand, anyway."

"A little extra cash wouldn't hurt, especially since I'll be cutting back my hours at Vogue once classes start again in the fall."

"Alright," Blaine said with determination, "I will add 'selling the Volvo' to my list of things to do. Oh— and did I tell you? The diner around the corner from us has an opening for a dishwasher and short-order cook. I talked to the manager yesterday and he said they could work around my school schedule. It doesn't pay much, but it's a job and is mine if I want it."

Kurt squinted at Blaine. "You? A short-order cook?" he asked, incredulous.

"Hey, I do okay!" Blaine retorted, mock-offended. "I can make a mean omelet, and I'm already quite skilled in grilling burgers and such with all my family cookout experience. Besides, you said yourself I'm 'a quick study'."

"And you can do just about anything you want when you set your mind to it, Mr. Anderson." Kurt tangled his fingers with Blaine's as the light changed and they stepped together off the curb.

Blaine's eyes darted down to the asphalt as he squeezed Kurt's hand. "My mom says I'm 'stubborn' and says it runs in the family. I come by it honestly, apparently."

"Well, I like to think of it as 'tenacious'— and that trait that will serve you well in this city," Kurt said and Blaine laughed.

"Now, considering my immediate future in the foodservice industry, what would you say qualifies as 'short-order chic,' o fashionable one?"

"Ha! Because I love you I am _not_ walking into that wide-open invitation for a height joke," Kurt poked him playfully.

"Nice," Blaine huffed.

"But, since you asked, I doubt it includes wonderfully quirky bowties."

"Hey— bowties are cool!"

"Of course they are. But the moment you come home in a fez I will have to revoke your fashion cred for being excessively nerdy."

"Oh, really? The mere fact that you not only _knew_ my Doctor Who reference, but in turn _responded with another_ Doctor Who reference proves you are just as big of a nerdy fanboy as I am."

"I _am not_ a nerdy fanboy. I am _in love with_ a nerdy fanboy— there is a difference. I just happen to embrace all the weirdness that comes with him," Kurt said, teasing. "You've already got a collection of toy robots. That ups your nerd factor considerably."

"Not a nerdy fanboy yourself?" Blaine challenged, now walking backwards in front of Kurt and looking at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Then I'm sure you won't mind me tossing your _Downton Abbey_ DVDs to make room on the shelf for my model robots!"

Kurt came to a full stop, mouth dropping open shock. Seizing his chance, Blaine spun around and sprinted ahead the last 50 feet to their building, racing up the steps to the front door and darting inside.

Kurt blinked, momentarily stunned, then began the chase. "_Oh, no you don't_—_ TOUCH MY DVDS AND DIE, ANDERSON!"_


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt had opted to not enroll in classes during the summer session, choosing instead to take advantage of some extra hours offered at , so Blaine hit the campus alone the following Monday morning. He was thankful for his "orientation date" with Kurt last week as he found his "Shakespeare in Literature and on Stage" and "Beginning Dance: Movement and Form" classes easily.

His last class of the day, "Introduction to Improvisation," was across the campus from the subway station entrance. He walked slowly out of the building after class, only now becoming aware of the persistent ache in his muscles. He knew the dance class would be demanding, but was surprised how much physicality would be part of improv. He stopped to shift his satchel and rub his neck, when a sign on a kiosk reading "Help Wanted" caught his eye. Blaine checked out the flyers posted on the board, taking note of street and neighborhood names to ask Kurt if they were logistically viable options. He reached into his satchel for a notebook and pen to write down a couple of the more promising possibilities, and noticed a man standing in the shade of the Student Union building watching him with interest.

Blaine looked away, glancing around to see if he might be mistaken. Maybe the man was looking at someone else? But the quad was almost empty this late in the day, particularly with the sultry summer heat. There was no one else near him. He focused his attention to jotting down a few quick notes, sneaking another glance back as he reached to put his notebook back in his bag. The man, still watching, started to walk toward him.

Blaine turned away, heading toward the subway station again when he heard the man call out, "Hey, kid! Wait! Can I talk to you for a minute?" Blaine stopped and turned back, getting a good look at the man as he came closer. Tall, lean, with short-cropped sandy brown hair and a day's worth of beard scruff shading his cheeks and chin— dressed in tan chinos and a white button down shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. _A little too old to be an undergrad student. Faculty or TA, maybe?_

"Hi, I'm Pete," the man said cheerily, extending his hand in greeting.

Blaine's prep school training kicked in, responding with a firm handshake and friendly smile. "Nice to meet you. I'm Blaine."

"Handsome _and_ charming," Pete grinned. His manner reminded Blaine of a car salesman, a little slick and over-friendly, with no qualms about invading another's personal space. "Are you a student here at NYADA?"

Blaine nodded. "Yes, this is my first day, actually."

"That's great," Pete said, leaning in closer to put his hand on Blaine's shoulder as if they were old buddies. "Listen, Blaine, I know this may seem kind of forward, but I happened to peek in on the improv class earlier, and I've got to say, you really have a great energy. After seeing you in action, I said to myself 'Pete, you gotta meet this guy—'"

Blaine took a step back, unnerved by Pete's brash demeanor. "Um, wait. I mean, thank you, but I don't think— not interested— I have a boyfriend." He stumbled over his words, feeling awkward.

Pete stopped short, realization dawning on his face, and then laughed. "Oh, no. No. I don't mean like that. You seem like quite a catch— your boyfriend's awfully lucky— but I'm not hitting on you. I'm a talent scout for an independent film company."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I misunderstood—" Blaine felt the heat of embarrassment rising in his cheeks.

"No worries. _I'm_ sorry. I realize when I get excited, I tend to come on a little strong." Pete chuckled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, rectangular metal case. He flipped it open with his thumb and took out a business card to hand to Blaine. "I like your look, Blaine, and I like your style. I want you to come audition for us. You could have a great, _lucrative_ career in film!"

Blaine's eyes grew wide and his breath caught in his throat as he took the card. _Pegasus Films—Peter Johnson, Executive Recruiter_, with a phone number and email address below that. He looked from the card back up to Pete, who was grinning broadly. Pete pointed at the card as he nodded, "You call me, we'll set something up!" He chucked Blaine on the arm and turned to walk away. "Hope to hear from you soon!" he said over his shoulder.

Blaine stood in stunned silence staring at the business card for a full five minutes before shaking out of his stupor and pulling his phone out to call Kurt. It went straight to voicemail— Kurt likely out of range in the subway on his way home from work. At the beep, Blaine left a message, breathless with excitement, "KURT! You'll never _believe_ what just happened to me! I'll tell you all about it when I see you at home!"

"Blaine."

A muffled groan rose from the table, where Blaine had his head buried in his arms.

"_Blaine!_ Come on, it's not that bad," Kurt chided, rubbing Blaine's hunched shoulders in an attempt to console him.

Blaine raised his head and caught sight of the business card lying on the table. A pained expression creased his face as he realized that the glorious promise the damn thing held earlier that afternoon was now mocking him with its harsh reality. "How could I have been so gullible?" he moaned. "I should have realized it was too good to be true."

"Well, in your defense, it _is_ true— if you happen to want to launch your film career in the porn industry."

Blaine's head fell back into the cradle of his folded arms, a huff of disgust punctuating the move. "_Peter Johnson_. I should have known— even his NAME is euphemistically phallic, and probably not even his real one."

"Oh honey," Kurt said, his tone soft and sympathetic. "_Mr. Johnson_ has a bit of a reputation on campus. He hangs out looking for bright young student actors, particularly those who might be down on their luck and need some quick cash. You just happened to bump into him on your first day before Rachel and I could clue you in."

Another muffled moan prompts Kurt to pull out the chair next to Blaine and sit down, wrapping his arms around Blaine's waist and resting his cheek on his shoulder.

"You've got to remember, you're in the big city now, Blaine. You can't just naively trust that the people you meet don't have an ulterior motive." Kurt hugged Blaine close. "Stick with me, kid. I'll teach you my cynical ways, and we'll turn you into a savvy New Yorker in no time."

Blaine choked out a laugh, lifting his head to look at Kurt. "A year in this city has turned you into such a wise-old sage, Kurt. Anything else you want to teach me?"

The corners of Kurt's mouth tipped up in a grin. "Oh, I can think of few things, grasshopper. And a couple of them just might make you forget all your troubles for awhile."

Kurt stood, and held out a hand to Blaine. Blaine took it, raising Kurt's hand up to his lips in order to gently kiss his fingers. "My love is thine to teach. Teach it but how, and thou shalt see how apt it is to learn..."

At Kurt's questioning look, Blaine explained, "First lesson in 'Shakespeare in Literature and on Stage' class today— from _Much Ado About Nothing_."

Kurt smiled again, "See, you _are_ a quick study. You're going to do just fine..."


	4. Chapter 4

The very first summer job Blaine had in high school, and every one after that, his father had insisted a large chunk of his wages be put into interest-earning CD accounts, slated to come due in regular intervals during his college years. As such —though Blaine was glad to be getting a return on his investment— it meant he didn't have access to the full amount he'd saved at one time. His father felt this would be a great life lesson, requiring Blaine to be responsible with his finances — to budget for needs and not be tempted to go on wild spending sprees. And Blaine _was_ responsible, but New York was an expensive city to live in. Even splitting rent, utilities, and other costs with Kurt and Rachel, money was often tight.

It had become a point of pride for Blaine to be able to show his father he could make it on his own in the city— by the sweat of his brow and by his own rules. Trouble was, there were many unemployed actors and singers in New York. This meant that not only were performing gigs that actually paid anything virtually non-existent, there was also tough competition for every sales clerk, waiter, and barista job in the city.

As summer rolled into fall, Blaine kept very busy with his NYADA class work, his regular shift at the diner, and various odd jobs he could pick up here and there that would fit around his school schedule. Fortunately, he was an expert at working the trademark Anderson charm: that thousand-kilowatt smile and the earnest puppy dog eyes, all wrapped up in dapper prep school manners. Doors would open— sometimes just a crack— but that was often enough to get him in on the ground level.

"Working your way from the bottom up builds _character_," Kurt cajoled one night, rubbing Blaine's aching back as he laid sprawled in front of him.

Blaine grunted a (not entirely convincing) noise of assent. It had been a very long day with classes in the morning and a full eight-hour shift at the diner afterward. Blaine had barely made it home with enough energy to drag himself into the bathroom for a quick shower before collapsing face-first on the bed. He didn't even move when Kurt brought some pasta and cut veggies in for him.

"Come on, you need to eat in order to keep up that manic perky energy that gets you out of bed to walk Mrs. Samuelson's dogs for her at _too-damn-early-o'clock_." Kurt rolled Blaine over onto his back, then pulled him into a sitting position. Blaine whined in protest, but stayed upright just long enough for Kurt to wedge some pillows behind his back to keep him that way.

Kurt took the plate from the nightstand and sat next to Blaine. "Come on, big boy— I'm not above playing 'here comes the choo-choo' to get some nourishment in to you," he said, taking a forkful and holding it above the plate. "Open up."

Blaine chuffed and looked up at Kurt, a sparkle of amusement in his tired eyes. "In my house, it was airplanes," he said. "I even had a special spoon that looked like an airplane— wings and all."

"I'm going to have to email your mom and see if she still has that lying around somewhere. Maybe she can send it to me to help make sure you eat," Kurt said as he deftly navigated the food into Blaine's waiting mouth.

Blaine chewed and smiled, "She probably does. I don't think she's thrown away much of anything Cooper or I had as babies." He raised his hand and cupped Kurt's cheek tenderly, looking into his eyes. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"My pleasure," Kurt said, smiling back. He shifted the plate to one hand, using the other to brush a wayward curl off Blaine's forehead. "I'm so proud of you. You have to be building up some good karma points somewhere working as hard as you do." Kurt filled the fork again and offered Blaine another bite.

"I certainly hope so," Blaine said, stifling a yawn, eyes heavy. "I'd hate to think this was all for nothing."

"Character-building," Kurt sing-songed. He put the plate on the nightstand. "Don't forget there are veggies here for you too."

Blaine nodded wearily as he took the baby carrot offered to him, and Kurt got up from the bed. He walked over to the work clothes Blaine had unceremoniously discarded in a pile on the floor. "I'll just get some stain-stick on these before putting them in the hamper," he said, picking them up gingerly — nose wrinkling at the scent of sweat mixed with fry-oil and other unidentifiable odors from the diner. "Or, maybe we should just burn them," he teased.

Blaine didn't respond. Kurt turned to look back at the bed, and found Blaine rolled over on his side, sound asleep, still holding the carrot. Kurt shook his head, gently removed the carrot from Blaine's hand, and pulled the comforter over him, tucking him in. Kurt turned out the light and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, sweet prince," he whispered.

"But, where are we going?"

"Be patient."

"You tell me to get all dressed up for a subway ride downtown, and you won't even give me a hint as to what this is all about?" Kurt said, exasperated. Even with his longer legs, he had to hurry to keep pace with his boyfriend who was almost vibrating with excited energy.

"We're celebrating!" Blaine beamed, and tugged on Kurt's hand as he forged ahead. He looked up at the storefronts as they walked past, taking note of the street numbers. "Almost there!"

They turned the corner, and Blaine stopped in front of The Capital Grille[1], an elegant steakhouse that catered to the the wealthy bankers and businessmen of Wall Street. "And here we are!" He opened the door and looked at Kurt expectantly. "After you."

"The Capital Grille," Kurt breathed, then his eyes narrowed as he turned to his boyfriend. "Blaine Anderson, what exactly are you up to?"

Blaine ushered him into the restaurant lobby in front of him, placing his hand at the small of Kurt's back to gently guide him over to the hostess stand. "I have reservations for two at 7:00 p.m., under the name Blaine Anderson," he said to the young lady behind the podium.

She checked her list, then looked up, smiling. "Your table is ready now, gentlemen. Please follow me."

They wound their way through the restaurant. Kurt tried not to gawk at at the opulent decor, but couldn't help himself. Crisp white linen cloths on tables decked with fine china and graceful stemware stood out against rich dark wood and deep red walls— radiating an aura of class, wealth, and sophistication.

They stopped at a cozy table near the back. Blaine pulled the chair out for Kurt, sliding it in as Kurt sat down, then came around to his own seat opposite. Kurt opened the menu the hostess had left, his eyes widening as he read. "Blaine! This is amazing, but—" his voice dropped to a whisper, "_so expensive!_ You really shouldn't have!"

"Yes, Kurt, I absolutely should," Blaine said earnestly. "I sold the Volvo, and was able to negotiate a pretty good price. I can cover my last tuition payment for the year, two month's worth of my share of rent and other living expenses, and plane tickets home for Christmas, with enough leftover to take the love of my life out for a proper dinner date."

He reached across the table and took Kurt's hand in his. "Look, this is a chance to celebrate starting our lives together in New York. Tomorrow, we will go back to being poor college students, but tonight, we'll be decadent! And we'll have both wine _and_ dessert with our expensive, delicious dinner. Enjoy the novelty of this experience!"

Kurt laughed. "Okay, I will. Because in a couple of years, you'll be tearing up the charts with your Grammy-winning debut album, and I'll be taking Broadway by storm. Eating at fancy-schmancy restaurants like this will be so routine!"

Blaine's face lit up. "Kurt Hummel— have I told you lately how much I love you?"

"Yes,_ constantly_," Kurt huffed in exaggerated irritation. Then his expression softened and he smiled. "But I will never, _ever _tire of hearing it. I love you too, Blaine Anderson."

* * *

[1] _Many thanks to tumblrite StJimmyJazz for his many wonderful recommendations when I pinged him asking for an elegant NY landmark restaurant that Blaine could take Kurt to! The Capital Grille, he said is "one of my favorite 'super fancy date night that I'm totally going to be poor afterwards' place," which I thought sounded perfect. Then I looked it up and it TOTALLY WAS PERFECT! View some pics of it HERE._


	5. Chapter 5

It was an unseasonably balmy November day as Blaine exited the Student Union building. He closed his eyes, face turned up toward the late afternoon sun, relishing the unexpected warmth. He hadn't even needed the jacket he'd grabbed "just in case" as he left the loft that morning. He shook himself out of his reverie and started down the stairs, when he heard someone behind him call his name.

Turning, Blaine saw Peter Johnson walking toward him, grinning. He had been successfully avoiding Mr. Johnson's usual hangout spots ever since Kurt had clued him in, but now there was nowhere to escape and it was too late to pretend he hadn't heard or seen him. He braced himself as the man caught up, clapping Blaine on the back like he was a long-lost friend.

"Blaine! So good to see you again! I was hoping I would have heard from you before now. Are you ready to come in for your audition?" Pete said brightly.

"Thank you, but no." Blaine said, polite but firm. "I've heard about the kind of movies Pegasus Films makes, and I don't think it's a good match."

"Ah," Pete said, and shrugged. "You can understand why I might not lead with that information, yes? But, many actors I meet who tell me they're not interested at first eventually come around. Its a great way to make good money for a couple of days work, and we pay c_ash. _That has its appeal, what with tuition, the cost of living in this city—and Christmas is just around the corner, you know!"

"I'm doing just fine on that front, thanks." Blaine said. "I'm going to pass."

Pete shook his head, disappointed but still buoyant. "That's too bad. I really think you'd be great." He took out another business card and pressed it into Blaine's hand. "My offer for an audition still stands. You keep that card and let me know when you're ready."

"I'm not going to be ready. _I'm NOT INTERESTED_," Blaine called after Pete's retreating figure, but Pete just waved without looking back and disappeared around the corner of the next building. Blaine huffed in frustration and dropped the card in the nearest trash can before continuing on his way.

Christmas was the first time Blaine had been back to Ohio since he left for New York City. His mother had been watching anxiously out the window since he'd texted her that their flight had arrived safely in Columbus— though she'd never admit it. The moment the Hummels' black Navigator turned into the driveway, Teresa Anderson was out the door and ready to tackle Blaine with a hug the moment he got out of the vehicle.

William Anderson stood watching from the doorway as his son grabbed his suitcase from the trunk, then put his arm around his mother and walked up to the front porch. William stood back and held the door open so Teresa and Blaine could come inside from the cold.

"Welcome home, Blaine," William said, taking his son's coat and hanging it up in the hall closet. He reached for the suitcase. "This looks heavy. I'll take it up for you."

Blaine picked it up first, and flashed a wide smile. "Thanks, dad. I can handle this." He sprinted up the stairs to his room as his mother called after him from the kitchen, reminding him not to dawdle because supper was almost ready. When he came back down, his father was filling glasses with water while his mother placed the large salad bowl and bottles of dressing on the table. Cooper would be flying in from L.A. tomorrow, so tonight was just the three of them.

Time and Teresa's behind-the-scenes diplomatic efforts had diffused the residual anger that had separated father and son. Things between them were still a little awkward but civil, both men making their best effort for her and for the sake of the holidays.

"So, Blaine," his father ventured casually, "how's life in the big city been treating you?"

"Quite well, actually. I've been lucky to have good guides. Kurt and Rachel have been helping me get acclimated to New York, so I'm starting to feel like a real native now," Blaine said. "It's different from Lima, but I really love the activity and energy there. And—" he paused for a moment to take more vegetables when his mother passed him the dish— "it's great to know I can get falafel or pad thai any hour of the day or night if the mood strikes."

"Oh Blaine!" Teresa was horrified. "Please tell me you aren't keeping a schedule that has you always going out for greasy food in the middle of the night!"

"I do everything I can to make sure I get my recommended daily allowance of fruit, veggies and sleep, Mom." Blaine raised his right hand in a mock-Boy Scout pledge, "I do solemnly swear."

She pursed her lips at him. "You know I'm going to ask Kurt to verify this information when he comes over tomorrow."

"Oh, he will," Blaine said brightly, then stage-whispered "or he'll never see his expensive moisturizer again," and his mother chuckled.

"Things... going alright, living with Kurt and Rachel?" his dad asked.

"Yeah, they are," Blaine nodded. _And so it begins. _ His father was fishing—Blaine was sure of it.

He met his father's gaze and smiled. "They already had a pretty good system for how they divided expenses and chores, so it wasn't too hard to add me in." He reached for another roll, pulling it apart to dip in the gravy on his plate, and continued, "But, I am glad that I had that year boarding at Dalton dealing with roommates, or I'd never get any shower time or bathroom shelf space!"

Teresa and William both laughed, and Blaine grinned, glancing from his mom to his dad, and— he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of... something else in his father's expression that was quickly masked. _Okay, that's interesting_.

"Still," William said, taking the salad bowl from his wife, "even splitting expenses three ways, living in New York is _not_ cheap."

"True, but I'm actually doing okay. I've picked up a couple of part-time jobs that fit around my class schedule, and we stick pretty closely to our budget. There are a lot of things to see and do in New York that are inexpensive— or even free— if you know where to look."

"Is working that much hurting your grades?" William asked, concerned.

Blaine had to admit that deep inside, he felt an almost obnoxious pride at being able to honestly tell his dad that_ no, really, I am doing just fine on my own_—but he did his best to keep his expression open, his tone polite. Smugness on his part now could damage the truce that had been taking shape between him and his dad, and he wasn't willing to risk it.

"Actually, I've been maintaining A's and B's, and my music teacher thinks I show enough promise that she asked me to take on teaching a few grade-school student piano and voice lessons for her." William's eyebrows quirked up in surprise for an instant before he seemed to catch himself— then the mask of amicable neutrality fell again. _Maybe Cooper and I inherited more than just our stubbornness from him._

The conversation shifted to Teresa's volunteer work at the library and catching Blaine up on the most recent gossip about their country club friends. William let her carry the bulk of the conversation, occasionally nodding in support or adding a bit of color commentary when asked, but otherwise staying uncharacteristically quiet. Blaine could feel his father's eyes on him as they cleared the table after dinner. Something between them had shifted, but he wasn't quite sure what.

Blaine rinsed the last plate and put it in the dishwasher, then straightened up to find William watching him from the kitchen doorway with a contemplative expression on his face.

"Blaine, I— I'm glad you're home," his father said, his tone a little stilted but not unkind.

"Me too," Blaine said, smiling.

The holidays passed in a whirlwind of color, food and activity— amping up even more when Cooper hit town. His mother revelled in fussing over her grown sons; with her whole family again under one roof, she went into overdrive cooking and baking, coaxing them to _have just a just a little more_, insisting they were getting too thin living on their own. _What kind of mother would I be letting you starve in my house? You need to eat!_

Blaine took advantage of every opportunity to reconnect with his friends from McKinley and Dalton who had come back to Ohio for the holidays, especially since they had all scattered so far and wide across the country after graduation. What was a few nights of lost sleep in comparison, right? All too soon, it was time head back to responsibilities of life in New York.

William drove Blaine and Kurt back to the airport in Columbus. After checking their bags, they found a small café and ordered some coffee. Kurt excused himself to go find a restroom, leaving father and son alone in companionable silence at the table.

Taking a deep breath, William spoke first. "I was wrong, Blaine," he said.

"I... certainly didn't expect you to lead with _that._"

"Kurt told me this week about how hard you've been working— between your jobs and classes and all. He says you never even complain about it, that you've taken it all on with such dedication and maturity. And I can see it for myself, just these few days you've been home. You carry yourself differently— with even more confidence and purpose. I guess I wasn't willing to see just how much my little boy had grown up."

Blaine blinked, stunned. "Dad, I—"

William held up his hand."Let me finish. This isn't easy for me to say and I need to get this out while I have momentum. I was so worried about you being on your own in New York. I still worry about you pursuing a career in show-business, but I know forcing you to do something 'safer' like business or law would be like putting a candle under a bushel basket— the flame would either be snuffed out or burn right through." William looked Blaine in the eye. "You need to let your talent shine."

It had been another long day of classes with an equally long shift at the diner, and he could feel it in every last one of his muscles. In two weeks, he'd be starting his new job giving voice and piano lessons— which meant he could leave the grease and long hours at the diner behind. Blaine pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears to protect them from the cold January wind whipping through the streets of the city, but the weather and the late hour didn't really bother him too much, lost in his own thoughts as he was. He remembered the look on his father's face at the airport, as he smiled and said, "I'm proud of you, son. If anyone can do this, you can!" Blaine could feel the warmth of that moment radiating out from his core even now.

He altered his usual route, stopping by the ATM to withdraw his share of this month's rent from his account. That task completed, he turned to head home, to Kurt and their soft bed. He didn't notice the dark figure that slipped out from the alley and fell into step behind him.

Kurt was startled awake by his cell phone buzzing on the coffee table. Through bleary eyes, he barely registered the time— 2:17 a.m.— and realized he'd fallen asleep on the couch watching a movie while waiting up for Blaine. He briefly wondered why Blaine hadn't woken him when he got home from the diner as he swiped the screen of his phone to answer the call.

"May I speak to Mr. Kurt Hummel?" the voice on the other end of the line inquired.

"I'm Kurt Hummel," he mumbled sleepily.

"Mr. Hummel, this is Margo Robbins from Wyckoff Heights Medical Center. Blaine Anderson was brought into our emergency room just after midnight, and you are listed as his emergency contact?"


	6. Chapter 6

Blaine was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, holding an ice pack to the back of his head when Kurt came bursting through the curtain.

"BLAINE!"

"Kurt! I'm okay—"

"What happened?" Kurt asked, worry creasing his face as he moved to sit down on the bed. His eyes roamed over Blaine as he reached for his hand. A couple of scrapes and a bruise purpling on his left cheek, but aside from looking a little crumpled and very, very tired, nowhere near as bad as Kurt had feared.

"I was mugged coming home after work. I never even knew what hit me. Joey, who has that little convenience shop across from the diner? He saw the guy jump me. He yelled and the mugger took off running, but by the time he got to me, the guy was long gone."

Blaine paused a moment to adjust the ice bag, then continued, "I'd hit my head pretty hard when I fell, so he brought me here. I don't think I actually got knocked out, but I'm not sure I knew my own name there for a bit. The doctor said I have a mild concussion— I should be fine with some Tylenol and rest. But because I had a head injury, they weren't going to discharge me on my own." Blaine smiled weakly. "Sorry to have to drag you out of bed in the middle of the night for this."

"Sorry to drag me out of—? Blaine, _really?_" Kurt huffed, equal parts indignant and relieved. He squeezed Blaine's hand and pushed a mussed curl off his forehead. "I'm glad you're okay, all things considered. Did the mugger make off with anything?"

"My phone was tucked inside my coat, so it was safe—" Blaine turned to Kurt, eyes worried, "but he got my wallet."

"Replacing ID and credit cards are a pain, but certainly doable," Kurt said sympathetically.

"No, you don't understand," Blaine shook his head, wincing. "Before heading home, I stopped at the ATM to withdraw my part of this month's rent. Our rent money was in my wallet."

Kurt's eyes went wide in dismay. "Oh, Blaine," he breathed.

"Mr. Anderson?" a nurse said as she pulled the divider curtain back. "Now that Mr. Hummel is here, I have some paperwork for you to sign and we can get things wrapped up to send you home if you're ready."

"Yes, please," Blaine sighed, reaching for the offered clipboard.

It was 5:30 a.m. before the two of them made it home from the hospital. The doctor had cleared Blaine to get some sleep, but gave specific instructions on the signs they needed to watch out for that might indicate a problem. Kurt shifted into full-on caregiver mode, insisting Blaine stay in bed while he prepared a little breakfast for them.

"Kurt, I'm fine. You don't need to wait on me hand and foot—"

Kurt silenced him with with a steely gaze. "Listen, Anderson. I got my father, my _meat-and-potatoes 'the parsley garnish and ketchup count as vegetables' _father to switch to a diet of whole grains and veggies after his heart attack. If you think your wimpy little protests are going to deter me from taking care of you, you have another _think_ coming."

Blaine held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Whatever you say, boss." He allowed Kurt to gently push him back onto the pillows, and pull the covers over him.

"Besides, I like taking care of you," Kurt continued as he smoothed Blaine's hair back and kissed him on the forehead. "You relax for a minute, and I'll get us a little something to eat. Then we can snuggle and sleep a little."

Blaine watched Kurt disappear around the corner, then huffed out a sigh. His eyes drifted to the armoire in the corner, its once plain exterior now vibrant with a flowing "New York to Paris" skyline motif Kurt had designed. _What better way to decorate the place you store all your lovely clothes than with an homage to the two world capitals of fashion?_ Kurt had said, eagerly holding up a small pack of artist brushes in one hand and four tubes of acrylic paint in the other.

They had worked on it together as time permitted over the next several weeks—Kurt taking the lead and Blaine offering suggestions here and there, until finally Kurt pronounced it done. They celebrated by indulging in a shared order of gooey-but-oh-so-good Shake Shack Cheese Fries. _Another homage to a perfect blending of New York and French culture_ Blaine declared, earning him a epic eye-roll.

He shifted on his pillow, causing a stab of pain that snapped him back to harsh reality. He gingerly repositioned his head to avoid laying on the still-tender lump, and the pain subsided to a dull ache. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, brow furrowing as his mind churned over what to do about the lost rent money. Before he knew it, Kurt was back with two plates of steaming scrambled eggs and toast, standing beside the bed and looking down at him with concern.

"Are you feeling okay? Do you need another dose of Tylenol?"

"I'm fine," Blaine said in a tone that didn't quite match his words. He sat up and reached to take the plate Kurt held out to him. "I'm just trying to figure out what to do about this whole mess I've gotten us into."

"You don't need to worry about that just yet." Kurt responded, sitting on the bed. "You need to get your mind off that and rest like the doctor said—"

"I _can't_ rest until I figure out what to do about this!" Blaine snapped, his voice rising. He looked up at Kurt, his spark of anger extinguishing as quickly as it had lit. "I'm sorry. I'm just so frustrated. It's just— how could I have been so stupid?"

"It was a random thing, Blaine," Kurt said quietly, "you can't blame yourself for what happened."

"Yes, I can. I could have gone to the bank in the morning, in daylight, but I didn't want to get up an hour earlier to have time to swing by before class." Blaine set his plate on the nightstand and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I was trying to be efficient, and didn't take precautions to be safe. I _knew better_, but did it anyway—and now we're $1,500 short for the rent that's due this week, and our landlord has never been one to err on the side of grace."

"Could you ask your Dad for a loan? I mean, now that you two are on better terms and all—"

"No! I— I can't. We're on better terms _because _I had been able to prove to him I could do this on my own—" Blaine gestured expansively with both arms, "New York, NYADA, living with you— all of this with no financial assistance from him." He closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts for just a moment, and then looked over at Kurt, deflated. "I told you how he said he was so proud of me at Christmas. If I turn around not even two weeks later and ask him for money to cover my rent— all of that respect I earned goes out the window and he gets to say 'I told you so' and... Kurt, I just can't."

"It may not be that bad. You're letting your pride get in the way—"

"I can't do it. I _won't_ do it. Not as a first option," Blaine was adamant. "There has to be another solution."

Kurt bit his lip, taking a moment to let his immediate reaction dissipate before speaking. "Well, maybe I could ask my dad for a loan to get us by? You're starting your new job soon... he wouldn't have to float us for too long—"

Blaine shook his head with a vigor that threatened to bring his headache back with a vengeance. "No. _No. _Not an option. Your dad just paid a big chunk of change for your next semester, and the only thing possibly worse than asking _my_ dad to bail me out of my fuck up is asking _your_ dad to do so."

"You know he loves you like you were his own son. He wouldn't think less of you for asking for help—"

"This isn't about him or anyone else! This is about _me!_" Blaine hit the bed with his fist, the impact causing vibrations to ripple through the mattress. He turned to look at Kurt— who was now sitting with his arms folded across his chest. The tension between them was almost palpable.

Blaine sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to find the right words. "Being able to make it on my own in New York wasn't just about proving something to my dad, it was also about proving something to myself."

He sat up on his knees in front of Kurt, reaching to pry one of Kurt's hands free to hold in both of his own, and looked down at them as he began to speak. "Moving to New York represents taking that last step from being a teenager to being an adult for me. I am finally here, living with the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, pursuing a career I've dreamed about since I was in grade school. I knew it wouldn't be easy— but god, even after planning so carefully, I'm in this mess where the only immediate solution is to go running back to my parents to fix it. I thought I had things all figured out, but it seems I'm still this work in progress..."

Blaine finally dared to glance up, and was heartened to find that Kurt's shield had a slipped a little. He took that bit of courage and forged ahead. "I need to be able to do this on my own— for so many reasons I can't even adequately describe right now. I need to at least _try_." He squeezed Kurt's hand to emphasize his point.

Kurt exhaled a long breath. "Damn you and your earnest puppy dog eyes." He stroked Blaine's cheek with his free hand. "You don't have to do this all alone, you know. You have me."

"I know, and that fact is about the only thing keeping me from completely throwing in the towel right now." He leaned in, kissing Kurt gently on the lips. "Maybe... we could open a lemonade stand or something? With your culinary skills and my earnest puppy dog eyes, we'll be able to make up that lost money in no time!"

Kurt laughed and up scrunched his nose. "We may want to rethink opening a lemonade stand in the middle of January— but we can definitely keep that in mind for the summer! Oh, and for the record?" Kurt said nodding his head toward the armoire in the corner, "We've done pretty well taking 'works in progress' and making quite spectacular results."

"That we have, my love. That we have."

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a haze— the two of them napping for a couple hours at a time and catching up on some trashy reality TV together. Kurt insisted Blaine limit his activity to resting in bed or on the couch, and was immediately at his side anytime Blaine got up to move anywhere— despite Blaine's protests that he was perfectly capable to making it to the bed/couch/bathroom on his own, _thank you very much_.

"Maybe we could all chip in a little to help cover the gap this month," Kurt said as he rinsed their lunch plates in the sink, then turned to look at Blaine. "I have a couple hundred in my account, and Rachel might have a little extra too."

"I'm not sure she does." Blaine said, ruefully. "In addition to her NYADA payment this month, she also spent a boatload on those new 'professional headshots' she had done. She said something to me about hoping the grocery store had some 'cheap vegan ramen noodles' because that's what she'd be existing on for a couple of weeks."

"Well, your lemonade stand idea is starting to look better and better now," Kurt said brightly, and Blaine chuckled.

He glanced up from his notebook just in time to see Kurt's smile vanish and shoulders slump as he returned to the task of washing dishes. Kurt might be able to fool anyone else, but Blaine knew him too well. The signs were all there— he put on a brave face because Blaine had asked for his support, but in reality he was worried sick. The thought knotted in Blaine's stomach, spurring him to refocus his attentions on his brainstorming notes. _There had to be a way_.

That night, Kurt drifted off to sleep snuggled in Blaine's arms, head on Blaine's chest. Blaine laid with his own head propped up on the pillows, absent-mindedly stroking Kurt's shoulder as he stared into the shadowy corner where the armoire stood. _We've done pretty well taking 'works in progress' and making quite spectacular results_. The words rolled over and over in his restless mind. His brain (and frankly, his pride) felt as battered and bruised as that armoire had been when Kurt first brought it home, and yet, there it stood now, a testament to their resourcefulness.

Fatigue finally overtook him, and he fell into a restless sleep— the first wisps of an idea beginning to take shape, driving swirly, bizarre dreams for the rest of the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Three days later, Kurt came home to an empty loft. Blaine had texted him that he had one last errand to run, and to not hold dinner for him. Kurt dropped his bag on the floor by the couch, pausing a moment to slink out of his jacket and kick off his boots. It was a cold, gray day— sleeting on and off the entire commute home. Some hot soup would be just the thing to take the chill out of his bones.

Kurt was curled up on the couch, reading for his drama class assignment when Blaine finally made it home around 10:30.

"Hi sweetie!" Kurt called out. "I left some minestrone on the stove for you, but its been long enough we'll have to heat it up now. Oh, and there's crackers on the counter if you want."

"Thanks,"Blaine mumbled, fatigue evident in both his voice and body language as he toed off his wet shoes.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked, concerned, laying his book aside. "Was your errand successful?"

"I'm fine. Today has just been... a day." Blaine said wearily. "And yes, my errand was successful." He walked over to where Kurt sat and pulled out a pile of cash from his inside coat pocket, offering it to Kurt. "I got the rent money— but I may need to borrow a little from you for my share of the groceries next week."

"Blaine!" Kurt exclaimed, sitting up straight as he took the money. "This is FANTASTIC news! How did you manage it? And... why are you looking so down?"

"Its a long story," Blaine sighed, distracted as he slipped off his coat and reached in the pocket to pull his damp gloves out. A small, white card fell to the floor, landing face down in front of the couch as he turned to go back to the coat rack. "I hope you're not too disappointed in me."

Puzzled, Kurt picked up the white card and flipped it over to read as Blaine started to hang up his things. _Pegasus Films_. "Blaine," he said cautiously and held the card up, "what is this?"

"What is what?"

"This card that fell out of your pocket."

Blaine squinted at it from across the room. "Oh, that," he said, recognizing the card. "I ran into Peter Johnson on campus yesterday and he made me another offer. Said they were filming a 'project' today and could get me in if I was interested." He unwound the scarf from around his neck and reached up to loop it next to his coat.

Kurt looked at the card again, then looked at the cash Blaine had given him, eyes widening in alarm. "Blaine! You DIDN'T!"

Blaine swiveled to face Kurt again, bewildered at the sudden outburst. "I didn't what?"

Kurt held up the cash in one hand, the card in the other. "_Pegasus Films_? REALLY? Your pride wouldn't let you ask your dad for the money, but you could do THIS?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You said you hoped I 'wouldn't be too disappointed' in you for doing what you did to get the rent money, and THIS card falls out of your pocket when you get home?" Kurt fumed. "It's not that hard to put two and two together."

"W-what? You think—" Blaine sputtered, finally beginning to understand. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and marched over to Kurt, grabbing him by the wrist. "Come with me."

Kurt squawked in protest, but Blaine towed him determinedly along behind, making his way into their bedroom and finally stopping at the foot of their bed. "Sit down and listen to me," he said, releasing Kurt's wrist and gesturing to mattress. Kurt begrudgingly complied, his expression still fierce.

"You're right, I _was_ too proud to ask my dad to bail me out, and I ended up finding a solution that I am afraid you won't be too happy about."

Kurt opened his mouth to interject, but Blaine placed a finger on his lips to silence him. He pivoted on his heel and strode to the armoire, swinging the doors open wide.

Kurt gasped. Space that had once been filled with clothes was now almost empty, save for a small stack of t-shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, and two sweaters folded on the shelves. Three basic button-down shirts, and a single tweed blazer hung lonely on the near-empty rack. He looked at Blaine, the unspoken question in his eyes.

"Sunday night, after we got home from the hospital, I laid here awake just staring at the armoire, trying to figure out what to do when it finally came to me. On Monday, I got up and started doing some research on vintage and upscale clothes resale shops around the city. This one in Williamsburg especially liked my grandpa sweaters and estate-sale bowtie collection. They said their trust-fund hipster clientele would gobble that stuff up. And I got a good price for the more current designer stuff at a store on the upper East Side. My earnest puppy dog eyes helped convince the buyer to throw in an extra $20 for bus fare home."

"You made all the rent money by selling your clothes?" Kurt asked in wonder.

"Well, I emptied what was left in my bank account, and also took a couple of my antique model robots to a hobby shop that specializes in toy collectables. All that combined made up the difference."

"You thought I would be upset at you for selling your clothes? Oh, Blaine, why?"

"I know you and your opinions on fashion. I was afraid you wouldn't want to be seen with someone who looked like a Goodwill store cast-off."

"Really, Blaine?"

"No, not really." Blaine said, sitting down on the end of the bed. He began to squirm under the weight of Kurt's major side-eye. "Well, maybe a little bit..."

"You idiot," Kurt said frustrated but affectionate. "If you had actually _asked _me, I could have told you I wouldn't mind. I love you, and would be proud to be seen out and about with you EVEN if you were wearing your smelly diner uniform."

"I did save a couple of nice outfits, for job interviews, and such," Blaine said, pointing toward the armoire again.

Kurt's gaze followed the gesture, this time noticing an item he had missed among the folded stack of clothes. He smiled. "Your yellow pants. You saved your yellow pants..."

"I know how much you like me in those," Blaine grinned.

Kurt wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. "I'm so sorry I jumped to those awful conclusions."

"I'm sorry I didn't fill you in on my plan earlier," Blaine squeezed back. "I've just been so wrapped up in my own head this week, I didn't even think about what it might look like I was doing."

"You're lucky to have me around because I know how to shop for killer deals on really great clothes," Kurt said, resting his head on Blaine's shoulder. "We'll have your armoire filled up again in no time."

"I'm lucky to have you around for _so many reasons_— not just your impressive shopping skills, my love."

They held each other in silence for a few minutes, until Kurt pulled back to look at Blaine. "So, you're quite the wheeler-dealer now, huh?" he asked.

"Apparently so. I seem to have a bit of a knack for it."

"Good to know you have such a strong skill set we can put to good use if finances should get tight again," Kurt teased.

"I'm really glad you feel that way," Blaine said, untangling himself from Kurt's arms to stand up and stretch. "Wait until you hear how much I got on eBay for auctioning off your Downton Abbey DVDs—"

He bolted for the kitchen, but not fast enough to avoid a pillow sailing through the air aimed directly at his head.

_"YOU HAD BETTER BE KIDDING, BLAINE ANDERSON!"_

**The End**


	8. Chapter 8

_One last part, and this little tale is complete. What follows is the original free-verse poem that spawned the story of A Work In Progress._

_Thank you for sticking with me this far. Drop me a note or a review and let me know what you thought. I hope you've enjoyed the ride._

* * *

_**Blaine goes to New York...**_

Blaine goes to New York and starts his first year at NYADA

He moves in with Kurt and Rachel to help share costs…

Because with Kurt working less due to classes

they could really use the income of a third tenant

Other benefits aside ;)

Blaine's parents have cut him off financially

because he's chasing after this crazy "showbiz" dream

the same way that Cooper did

and there is a reason they don't talk about Cooper much

in the Anderson household

not to mention Blaine is "shacking up"

with his "high school sweetheart"

and that won't last.

His father never once says anything about them being "gay"

but insists Blaine is not "being responsible"

and is "throwing away his future" with such a reckless plan

if you can even call it a "plan"

They argue, loudly, round and round

until Mr. Anderson throws up his hands in frustration

and refuses to talk about it anymore.

Blaine has a little savings to get him started,

(thank you, summers at Six Flags)

and he tries to get a steady gig

but can't find much—

there are sooo many unemployed actors in NY waiting tables, etc.

But he does what he can,

walking dogs, washing dishes at the local diner,

all sorts of odd jobs to make ends meet.

New York living is so much more expensive than Ohio ever was.

Then one month, Blaine goes to the ATM to withdraw money for rent

(after a late shift at the diner)

and gets mugged on the way home.

The phone rings in the middle of the night—

Kurt is called to come pick Blaine up at the emergency room

Blaine has a mild concussion,

a few bruises and stitches, but he'll be fine.

The money, however, is long gone.

There's been this guy hanging out around NYADA

who calls himself an avant garde filmmaker

but he's really in the "adult entertainment" industry

and he preys on poor acting students

who need cash

And he's zeroed in on Blaine

who keeps rebuffing him

but now… the cash would be handy.

Kurt is of course horrified

and Blaine is too…

but he's feeling responsible for them not making their rent

and possibly getting them all thrown out.

Kurt assures him it will be all right, they'll find a way,

though worry creases his face when he thinks Blaine isn't looking.

Kurt comes home one night soon after that,

and Blaine hands him some money

to cover the rent (with just a little to spare)

but his smile is nervous and his eyes a little sad as he does it.

Kurt immediately thinks the worst

and there's a fight—

but Kurt has misunderstood.

Turns out Blaine sold his wardrobe on Ebay—

all those lovely Brooks Brothers cardigans, the snazzy blazers

and other designer clothes.

He just kept one nice suit for auditions,

and a handful of jeans/t-shirts/hoodie things to get by.

Blaine was worried that maybe Kurt wouldn't want to be seen with him

if he dressed like a poor acting student

in cheap Goodwill store bargains.

Kurt ruffles his hair and calls him an idiot

but with deep affection in his voice.

Kurt and Blaine kiss and make up

and kiss some more

_fade out_

By the way,

Blaine did keep the yellow pants

because he knows how much Kurt loves him in those yellow pants…


End file.
